Her and the Voice in Her Head by Lorraine Adeyefa – ★★★★☆
Heartbreak has a sound. It has visual cues that the average person who has drowned in the dating pool might recognise. It will look like a messy room, with clothes strewn around the floor, an unmade bed and half-empty bottles lined up like gnomes in an unkempt garden. It might sound a bit like a carefully curated playlist made up of Summer Walker, SZA and Jazmine Sullivan serenading your shame and anger. This is the set of Her and the Voice in Her Head, home to the narrator of Lorraine Adeyefa’s monologue play known simply as Her. As she clumsily feels her way to a place of self-love, guided by the no-nonsense Sis (Effie Ansah), the voice in her head, Adefeya, teaches us a lesson in vulnerability and emotional resilience.
When Adeyefa enters the stage, she does so like a hurricane, screaming the words to Girl Like Me by Jazmine Sullivan and H.E.R like she wants to use them as weapons. Someone has obviously played with her heart, and it has broken her. Her wallowing is interrupted by what we later come to realise is a flashback to a traumatic event in her childhood that has stayed with her, well into her adult years. The incident occurs with the theme song to Blue Peter playing in the background, and this is one example of the way that music is used to tell this story. The sound design from Immanuel Baptiste is brilliant as different melodies mark different moods and chapters for Her, making each moment last a bit longer in the mind.
Adeyefa treats the audience like pages in her diary, imparting the details of her heartbreak. Over the course of an hour, she tells us about all the boys she’d loved before her most recent, and most cutting, heartbreak. We become spectators at her solo-comedy show, and Adeyefa keeps us thoroughly entertained throughout with audience participation, dance breaks and musical interludes; she is a natural entertainer. It is clear that Her is a bit of a free spirit, and so the omnipresent voice of Sis is quick to bring her down to earth. As Her romanticizes her relationships, Sis rebuts with the harsh reality of what they really look like from a birdseye view. But it’s not to steal her joy or rob her of the feeling of being wanted and desired; it is a redirection back to a love for herself, for God and the people that really matter.
Her and the Voice in Her Head uses the stream of consciousness of a heartbroken, avoidant twenty-something year old to tackle unrequited love, self-harm and suicide, sisterhood, grief religion and purity culture as well as what it really means to love yourself. This is accomplished without it feeling messy, preachy or scattered; instead, it is portrayed as it is in real life; sometimes fleeting thoughts and sometimes waking nightmares you can’t escape from but always accompanied by joy in parts and peace in others.
As funny, and well-performed as the play is, I found myself wanting Adeyefa’s character to delve further into her relationships outside of her romantic ones. There are moments where she finds embrace in the voicenote of a close friend, where she realises the importance of nurturing platonic relationships. There’s a really beautiful scene where the voice of her late grandmother takes over from Sis, and she as well as the audience feel held by her firm but tender affirmations. These scenes are where the writing and acting really shines, and it would’ve been nice for this to be the focal point. There is so much content packed into the one-hour run time, it also sometimes feels like we’re rushing, and certain scenes felt like they should’ve lasted longer.
Nonetheless, Her and the Voice in Her Head is relatable and fun. Adeyefa makes a safe space for the voice in all our heads, and depicts sensitive issues with honesty and creativity. There are things to improve, but there is a lot to be enjoyed.
★★★★☆
By Melody Adebisi